


Making amends

by ThistleKat



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander (TV) RPF
Genre: Dom Sam, F/M, Light BDSM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-17 12:07:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8143396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThistleKat/pseuds/ThistleKat
Summary: Caitriona wants to comfort Sam after shooting the last two episodes of season one of Outlander.[...] I planned to give him what he needed. Something he didn’t even know he craved. [...]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I've always had very strong feelings about those episodes and Jamies sacrifice, and I turned them into this. And of course, Dom Sam is _kind_ of hot.
> 
> I know he always said what a challenge those scenes were and how much he'd enjoyed tackling them. And I believe him, but I still think they took a toll on him. Listen to Ron D. Moores podcasts for those last two episodes, they are very insightful. I used some of the information he gave here. Also - what a shame he didn't get any awards recognition for his performance!
> 
> As always, this is a work of fan fiction, only the depicted persons are real. My mother tongue is German, sorry for any mistakes.
> 
> Would love to hear your feedback!

"Oh for God’s sake."

I hissed irritably. The neat, tightly packed lines of words before me kept blurring in the dim light of the rainy afternoon. I paused to try a swig of the wine I’d opened minutes before. It was a light red, fresh and tart, brought back from Italy. Awfully expensive, too. It had to be good by default, and I supposed it was – under different circumstances.

I set the slender glass back, and sunk once more into the couch. My finger ghosted over the paper to make out the line where I had stopped reading and begun thinking. It had happened thrice in the last ten minutes. Not that it wasn’t thrilling to read new scripts. It always was, feeling your way into character, imagining how you’d bring the words to life. Imagining how it would be like to act them. 

I had done exactly that in the past minutes, but not with the script in front of me. I rolled my eyes at myself and stood up to retrieve Sam’s script, discarded in the hallway where he must have looked at it for the last time before leaving this morning. 

_Season 1, Episode 15. Wentworth Prison._

And another one above that, about as thick as the first, more crumpled and battered, loose sheets sticking out.

_Season 1, Episode 16. To ransom a man’s soul._

I went back to couch and wine and flicked through the pages, scanning over Sam’s notes. Questions, suggestions done in a quick scrawl. Some doodles when I’d joined and distracted him. I smiled at a few of them, then turned the page to read what I still dreaded, no matter how often I’d read it by now.

_Black Jack bends Jamie over the table and starts to rape him._

Such simple, pragmatic words. So much pain. The wine did little to numb my feelings, good as it may be. So much pain - on so many levels. 

As I had done so many times while mulling the scenes over with Sam, I thought first of Jamie himself. A reckless warrior, homeless and running. While burdened with a heavy past, still such a young man and innocent in so many things. Learning for the first time what it was like to love, to _really_ love. Learning the ways of passion, and what it meant to be husband and wife. Learning to comprehend a truth so daring most wouldn’t even care to listen. Learning to be a brother again, and a leader of men. Learning that if there was goodness in every human being, darkness swallowed it up in some of them.

The worst of it was that art imitated life. How many thousands – millions – of women had looked into eyes that held only darkness, before shutting their own, vainly trying to blot out the hell reality had become? How many _men_? Souls bared and broken, each and every one of them, and it made my eyes sting with tears. That was why it was so important to get these damn scenes right, why Sam and Tobias had spent every last spare minute rehearsing them. It mattered.

That was why it was so fucking hard to act them. I had been on that bloody set for the early scenes, and God, it was heart-breaking. Someone from makeup had actually started crying, and Sam had gone and comforted them. Any other time, I’d have called it a desperate try to get his attention, but I just knew. I understood. I felt the same. Of course there were a hundred people, the cameramen, lighting, sound, all the beloved little helpers carrying coffee or the food you asked for, the directors, producers. There was no way you could possibly forget you were on the set of a TV show. 

But still. I had watched Tobias during breaks, irritably shaking himself, making countless suggestions to cover the silence, averting his eyes from Sam’s as soon as he was allowed to. And I had watched Sam himself, watched how he’d acted his heart out until he’d made everyone cringe with the rawness of it. Watched how he could only breathe easily again every time someone yelled “Cut!”.

Today was the last day they’d spend in that cold, dank hole of a set, and the worst. I closed my eyes and saw him, bend over that table, screaming. Naked and dirty on the floor. Crouched on that cot, weeping.

It made me want to pace through the room, stopping only to check my phone every few seconds. I had no idea how long it would take them to shoot, and I had no idea if I’d even see Sam. He’d warned me yesterday that maybe he’d choose loneliness over company after such a day. I couldn’t blame him, but I still hoped he would turn up, as I wanted to pamper him. 

But not only with almond butter and the likes. I planned to give him what he needed. Something he didn’t even know he craved. Something he wouldn’t expect, much less demand of me. Something to try and outweigh the effect the past few weeks had on him.

The bottle of wine was half-empty, the light outside almost completely faded when he finally texted.

_Done. Thought to just crawl to bed, but can’t. Driving to you now. Need you. x_

_So glad. Hurry. Be careful!_

_Clear instructions, Balfe…_

I sighed in relief, and my heart beat faster immediately. I knew I had something short of thirty minutes until he’d arrive.

Tonight, I would give him power.


	2. Chapter 2

I was at the door about a second after he’d rung the bell. About a second after that, he had me in one of his famous bear hugs. Except he wasn’t giving, but receiving.

I’d resolved I wouldn’t ask him about today, if he would choose not to talk. But I felt everything I needed to know in the way he silently crushed me close to him, the way he exhaled as if he hadn’t drawn a complete breath in an hour, the way he trailed his hands across my back over and over. 

Finally, he let go, and as he looked into my eyes, he was the image of heartfelt relief.

“What do you need, Sam?” I asked softly, cupping his face. The corners of his mouth lifted into something not quite a smile.

“Apart from a magic amnesia that covers at least the last day? I don’t know. Food. Alcohol. You.”

“Lucky boy. You can have all three.” 

And with a smirk that – thank God – elicited one of his own, I led him to the kitchen, where I had prepared about a kilo of sushi for each of us. At least my fingers smelled like it had been that much. But I didn’t care in the slightest about that as I watched him now. Sam’s eyes fell on the table, grew wide and lit up, and I knew my plan worked pretty well so far.

“You’re priceless, Cait. Come here.” He drew me close again, and set his lips on mine for a kiss he’d surely meant to be chaste, but that soon turned out to become more. His hands fell to my hips and he sighed as I allowed him to deepen our kiss. We only broke apart for breath some moments later, bodies still glued together.

“Told you I wanted you.” He whispered against my lips, eyes closed. I had to clear my throat. 

“Sweetheart, I think the food will get cold.” I reproached him in low tones.

He laughed at that, still a bit hoarsely, but the mood was broken and we sat down to eat. He was quite ravenous, I realised soon after, and I was grateful I’d made double (or triple) portions. The white wine I’d swapped the red one for wasn’t that bad either, but maybe that was just because I had company now. The best. I found I was a bit ravenous as well, and enjoyed our companionable silent munching. 

Sam helped himself to more rice, and took a swig of his wine. 

“Won’t you ask?”

I managed – just – not to choke on my salmon, and raised my eyes to meet his.

“Well… No. But if you want to…”

Sam nodded, and set his glass down, considering. Then slowly buried his face in his hands. He held still for a few moments, drawing deep breaths. After a while, he leaned on the table as if suddenly terribly tired, and met my worried gaze dead on. 

“It… God. It was awful. Bloody horrible. You read through the script with me, and it was awful even then, just reading. Doing them, I don’t know… I had to go to some dark places today.”

He paused, absentmindedly staring past his neglected food, and I wondered idly whether to say something – anything – or to wait until he poured out everything. Then he shrugged, a humourless smile on his lips, and continued.

“It was awkward from beginning to end, obviously. Bad enough to be naked with another actor – and that ridiculous sock really doesn’t count as clothing. I think Tobias wished to be swallowed up by the ground as many times as I did. We shared a hell of a lot of knowing looks. They all did their very best, of course they did, but I somehow couldn’t stand quiet and somber today. I was actually grateful for Tobias’ many suggestions. For any break, really. And it was so hard to get right! More so than I’d thought. I mean, how the hell does one even look while getting a blowjob from his archenemy? God, it’s so weird!”

He sank back into his chair, shaking his head, gaze fixed on some far away point. Just as I wanted to reach out to him, he started to speak again, so softly I could barely make out his words.

“Those two rape scenes… I mean, every scene in that block was though, but those were the worst by far. And… I don’t know how to describe it, really. I tried to concentrate on getting it right, of course, but… I never felt that way before. It was as if… You know there’s always that veil between you and your character? That separates you from them, no matter how much you’ll get lost in the scene?”

I swallowed hard, and nodded, afraid of his next words.

“Well, today it was way too thin. We had just done that last scene where Black Jack breaks Jamie, and went outside for some coffee when they told us we had to do the whole fucking thing again because of some stupid glitch. And I… I swear I almost couldn’t take it.”

He threatened to choke up, and I wrapped my arms around him, sitting on his lap. “Oh Sam.”

He buried his face in my hair, breathing hard. After some moments, I heard his rueful chuckle. 

“I’m ridiculous, I know I am, but I couldn’t help it. Maybe it was because we talked so much about it before. I remembered that between takes, while I lay there with Tobias. My thoughts were always spinning, mostly what Jamie would have felt like, stuff from acting classes, what we rehearsed together, things Anna wanted – and then at some point I’d always think: Thank God this isn’t real. And then it would hit me again – that it was real for so many people. I tried to pour that into the scenes, but maybe I let it all get to me too much, I really have no idea. But I do know I don’t want to feel like that ever again.”

“And you won’t.” I responded immediately, fixing his eyes with mine again, and caressed his face and hair. Now that he got it all out, I rejoiced to see him slowly calming once more. “You’ve no idea how proud I am of you. Can’t imagine much that’d be harder to play, and I’m sure you slayed it. Bet my arse you’ll have everyone in tears when the episode airs.” He laughed full-throated at that.

“God, I fucking hope so. A sorrow shared is a sorrow halved, aye?”

He looked up to me, his dazzling crooked smile warming me through, making my heart soar. It was as if grey clouds had finally lifted and the sun broke through again. I smiled back, grateful that he’d chosen me to share his burden.

“Damn, I really am so glad it’s over. Though I still look like prison, to be honest. Seems I haven’t managed to wash all the fake blood and dirt off with my quick shower.”

He looked at me apologetically, and rather comically checked his face for any obvious smears. I laughed and stilled his hands.

“Oh, if you’re quite full, I have an easy solution for that at least. How would you like a nice, steaming hot bath? I could clean things up here, and then we’ll join later for your third wish?”

I winked and let my fingers trace a line from his knee to just above his crotch. His eyebrows rose at that, and I didn’t need much more to convince him. 

“That does sound like a good idea.”

He quickly finished off his plate after that and left for the bathroom. When he spotted the almond butter and Laphroaig I’d set up next to the tub for him, he rushed back to the kitchen to reward me with another searing kiss, and soon after I heard the familiar gurgling and splashing of water.

I had deliberately chosen to give him a few more minutes just for himself, and thereby created time to think about what he’d said. It didn’t take that long to reassemble the kitchen, and soon I paced through the living room once more. I didn’t exactly reason with myself, but I asked, and found that the answer was still yes. I knew he usually wasn’t the one to spend hours bathing, and walked to the bathroom.

He bade me in after I knocked, and I chuckled as I saw him, because he still had a spoonful of almond butter raised in mid-air. 

“Enjoying your treats, are you?” I asked, sitting down on the lip.

“Much.” He chimed in happily as he licked the butter from the spoon.

I watched him, all of him, half hidden from clusters of foam as I sipped at his whisky for strengthening. He noticed my gaze and slowly put the spoon away, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Would you care for another?” I said, voice already husky, and dipped my hand underneath the oily water to rest on his chest. His eyes narrowed, and he swallowed.

“You know I do.”

I couldn’t quite bring myself to look in his eyes, and kept my gaze fixed on my hand instead as I traced his pecs and circled his nipples.

“Sam, we already did some things like that, and maybe… Maybe that’s what you need. So… Tonight – I am yours. Do whatever you want. Take your pleasure. Use me as you like.”

I inched my way down to his abdomen, but before I could get further, he raised my chin so that I had to meet his gaze. Blue speared me in place, and I grew nervous under his scrutiny. 

“I don’t know… If you’d rather… I mean, I just thought…”

He moved his finger over my lips to stop my stammering, and considered me for a moment longer. Finally, he spoke.

“You’ll serve and obey.” It wasn’t even a question, and desire spread through my body immediately. I nodded, and he gulped down the rest of the whisky.

“I’ll join you shortly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anna Foerster directed those episodes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very NSFW – enjoy.  
> Thanks to the Season 2 gag reel, I learned a new word.
> 
> And just going to leave this here:  
> [ Apple Q&A ](https://samcaitlife.files.wordpress.com/2016/04/fullsizerender-7.jpg?w=1800&h=)
> 
> ~~Still not over those last two words.~~

I had sat down on the couch again, script in hand, too nervous to actually do more than crinkling the paper and listening for Sam. When I finally heard the soft, tell-tale creaking of the bathroom door, I leaped to my feet in an instant. It was entirely unconscious, and I had the sudden vision of prey, alarmed at their predator. 

Sam walked into the living room - he strolled, almost. He was naked but for loose light blue boxer shorts, and for a moment I needed to watch him, to drink him in more than I needed to draw breath. His hair was still damp, curling where it slowly dried off. Stray droplets of water glistened on his chest, his abs. The veins in his arms, the blue of his eyes, the chiselled bones that led beneath his boxers – I couldn’t take my eyes off him, and he hadn’t even glanced in my direction yet. 

I had stood stock-still, the only movement the traitorous shaking of my hands. When he finally halted, his face a mere inch away from mine, I nearly jumped. I had just enough time to notice him dropping something on the coffee table, and then his mouth and hands were on me, claiming my body.

My lips parted for his demanding tongue, and I moaned into him, his hands pressing me to him until we were flush against each other. The feel of him, the rasp of his stubble, the sounds he made in his throat – it maddened me, and I _wanted_ , and made to grab for his waistband. 

In an instant, he’d caught my hands in a grip like iron, and freed his lips from mine. His chest heaved, and I almost couldn’t stand the burn in his eyes.

“Sam, I…”

“Stop. You will not speak.”

He’d cut me off immediately, hoarse but fierce, and it sent shivers down my spine. He released my hands, and I watched, still open-mouthed, as he made for the couch next to us, fixing me in place with his eyes. He sat and looked me up and down, deliberately slow, and the vision of prey and predator returned.

“Take off your clothes.”

He leaned back while he said it, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly, an eager glint in his eyes. I was too happy to oblige. He’d thrown me for a loop already, and I planned to do likewise. I started with the simple white blouse I’d been wearing all day, pulling it up over my head. It revealed a black bra I’d never worn before, cut low and lacy, that pushed my breasts up just enough to form something resembling a décolleté. Sam had probably already seen it through the translucent fabric before, but his eyes narrowed all the same, and I saw the pulse beating in his neck. His gaze followed my fingers now as I unzipped and slowly pushed down my skirt. As he realised I hadn’t worn tights, but strap garters all along, he closed his eyes, and I could’ve sworn he moaned softly. I stepped out of the skirt and he tried to speak, but I stopped him with a gesture, bending to pick up my last accessory from under the table – impossibly high, black heels. When I finally stood before him, all in black lace and leather, he swallowed hard, and I couldn’t help a triumphant grin at the bulge in his pants. 

I stepped forward at his beckoning, and he took me in, eyes clouded with lust. His finger traced the lace of my string panty, and my breathing sped up. He looked up to me while his thumb found my clit, eliciting an inarticulate sound from me while I closed my eyes. Spurred on, he cupped me through the fabric of the panty, and growled as he felt my wetness.

“Turn around and take off your bra.”

I could have done with more ministrations, but the tone of his command left no room for arguments. As I turned, I heard him standing up behind me, and I _felt_ him, too, inches away from me. Felt him without seeing, his heat, his strength. Could all but see the fire in his eyes, barely contained. My knees were weaker than I’d hoped, but I managed to open the clasp and the bra dropped to the floor.

His fingers grazed the skin of my back, light as a feather. I could’ve moaned at his touch, because I knew both the restraint and promise that lay in it. He rested his hands briefly on my shoulders, then closed the remaining distance between us to gently cup my breasts. His breath caught in his throat, and I felt his mouth on my skin. 

After some moments, he drew back and reached for the coffee table, presumably to pick up what he had deposited there earlier. I was curious, but knew I probably wouldn’t have to wait long. I was right.

He touched me again, caressing my arms from the curve of my shoulder blades to my trembling hands. When he’d reached them, he slowly bent them behind my back. I drew in a breath sharply, but didn’t struggle. He adjoined my arms so that my left hand enfolded my right forearm, and vice versa. There was a pause, a breath, a rustle of cloth. Then he trussed me – tightly, meticulously - with what felt like one of his ties, breathing heavily as he did so. 

I was still adapting to the novelty of having my mobility cut to zero when he turned me around to face him once more. I looked up into his eyes, vibrant and dark. I wondered what he’d find in mine. I had - quite simply - never felt before what I felt now. The cold satin of his tie on my skin, the soft brush of his fingers against my collarbone. The hunger written all over his face. To be so utterly and completely under somebody’s power – and to relish every second of it.

“Ye look so beautiful like that. Come here.”

The rasp of his voice, gradually slipping into heavier Scots, almost startled me. He sat down again, pulling me with him so that I straddled him, and quickly and thoroughly kissed me. I had trouble keeping up my balance, but he steadied me. He pulled away some moments later, to whisper against my lips.

“I’ll make ye forget there’s anything else in the world but me, Cait.”

I made a sound at that, rash and wanting, and when he descended on my breasts, I was fairly certain he would. He stroked and kneaded, and his thumbs flicked against my nipples until they were hard and pliant all at once for him. I panted above him, and he didn’t have to look up to know what he was doing to me. 

Soon, he directed his attention solely on the hardened peaks. He teased and circled them, brushed over them, soft, then hard, and finally pinched them. Over and over. I had closed my eyes and moaned softly, head thrown back, trying my hardest not to whimper, not to squirm - but I wouldn’t be able to bear it much longer. He looked up now, and our eyes locked, mine frantic, his glinting, as he slowly, delicately, purposefully circled my nipples with the nails of his thumbs. 

It was such a simple touch, harmless in itself, but it shot straight to my core. I needed _relief_ from the sensations he triggered, and I cried out, struggling to free myself from his tie. I wanted to flail, but only succeeded in painfully twisting my arms. It was pointless, I knew it, he knew it. Sam just chuckled and held me tighter to him.

“Cry out like that. Again?”

Then he closed his mouth over one sore peak, all the while continuing to tease the other with his fingers. He loved to do that, to suckle and tease until I’d finally rear up under him, pulling his mouth back up to mine by force. I could do none of that now, had no means of resisting him – and he loved that even more.

He divided his attention equally, suckling, pinching, pulling by turns, and I shuddered and gasped as I became ever more sensitive. When he added biting to my mix of torture, I cried out again as he’d wanted, trying in vain to get away from him.

Sam smiled against my skin, obviously enjoying my agony. Just when I brought myself to beg him for mercy though, he stopped, pressing one final, ridiculously chaste kiss to each breast.

“Get on yer knees and suck me.”

It was almost a whisper before he set his lips on mine again. I felt his sly smile against me as we devoured each other, arousal mingling with fury, pushing me to snare and suck and bite his bottom lip.

Sam broke free with a gasp, and fixed me with the kind of look he knew would throw me into fucking turmoil. As if I had any more need of that.

“Now.” 

He persisted, almost sweetly, _daring_ me. I kept my eyes locked with his, returning his stare par for par, and slid down from the couch as gracefully as I could, trying to save me the embarrassment of toppling down on him. When I finally knelt in front of him, tied up and breathless, my breasts still reddened and aching from his onslaught, I couldn’t help but swallow. It was so dirty. I still couldn’t find enough air to fill my lungs, my heart pounded, and my eyes soon glazed over with lust. Sam just watched me for a moment, then pushed down his boxers. It was so good.

His cock had always been beautiful to me, somehow just the right kind of long and thick. But now the sight of it against his belly, so hard as to look almost painful, veins slightly protruding, rosy tip glistening – it made my mouth water, and I _craved_ to suck him. To watch his face and revel in his sounds, tasting him.

I leaned forward and kissed the tip of his cock, licking the pre-cum off of him. I could have tried to tease him first, to nibble and skim, but from the way he instantly closed his eyes and parted his lips, I knew he was hurting. As I closed my mouth over him, his head fell back and his hands snaked their way in my hair – control, if he needed it. I still focused my attention on the tip, swirling my tongue around it, pressing on the sensitive skin. He groaned with it, and if I hadn’t been dripping wet already, those noises would have done the trick. His fingers pressed against my scalp, and I slowly took all of him in my mouth and throat.

“Oh _fuck_.” he gasped, and I briefly smiled against him. I started to suck him in earnest now, gradually picking up pace, and he breathed hard, eyes closed in ecstasy. Whenever he groaned, I handled him just a bit rougher, using my teeth, circling the oversensitive head, increasing pressure. Soon, his hands started to tremble against me, and I felt the throbbing pulse of his cock, the tremors running through his body.

“God, Cait. Stop.”

His voice broke a little on the last word, as I’d just taken him deeper in my throat, but I obliged, kissing him one last time as he’d done with my breasts. He looked down on me, a mischievous smile on his lips, and gestured to our dinner table across the room.

“Your turn now.”

The smile altered not one bit as he helped me up and walked us over. Sam positioned himself behind me, slowly bending me over the table until my breasts touched the cool surface, his cloth-covered cock pressing against my arse. I was rather thankful – once again – that we had bought something wooden and sturdy.

Everything in me clenched at the mere suggestion of all the things he could do to me like that, bent over and utterly exposed to him. I lay with my head to one side, but couldn’t make out all of him behind me. As I listened for his breathing, I tried to calm myself again, but I was a bundle of nerves - still furious, nervous and most definitely aroused. Then I felt his knee between my legs, and I spread them wide for him. 

When he finally touched my swollen _punany_ , as he sometimes liked to call it, I moaned immediately. He caressed me through the soaked lace, pressing down on my neglected clit every few seconds. I knew I’d only need a few more strokes to completion, already hurting for release as I was. But just when I thought to fall into quick oblivion, his touches stopped. 

I almost grunted in surprise, feeling more than a bit dazzled. It had been only seconds, hadn’t he realised I was close? Not likely. But possible.

After some beats, he explored me again, pushing the panty away this time. His fingers slipped through my folds in a skilled rhythm, brushing against each particularly tender spot in the way he knew I liked. He was oddly silent while he did it, and I had a vague feeling of being observed. Still, I hadn’t completely lost my orgasm after he’d stopped before, and soon had no attention to spare for him. I tensed up, my breathing laboured, eyes closed, his strokes pushing me towards ecstasy – until he stopped again.

Was that what it felt like for him? When he held back to secure my pleasure? I hated it. And I knew exactly what he was doing. I huffed, squirming beneath him, trying to rub my thighs together for friction. Sam chuckled softly behind me, and with a firm hand, spread my legs apart again. Then he started working me, two fingers sliding up inside me this time, soon three, fucking me. I gasped when he thrusted harder, and moved my hips against him in abandon, desperately seeking my release.

“Oh, ye like that?”

Sam’s words, distinctly amused, barely reached me through the haze of my need. Well-known jolts coursed through my body, and I panted heavily, moving faster in frenzy. Just then, Sam simply withdrew his hand. It was too much. I tried to straighten myself on shaky legs, fury getting the better of me.

“ _Fuck_ , Sam! What the bloody hell do you…”

With his hand on my neck, he roughly forced me down again, his body weight pinning me to the table.

“That was a mistake, Cait.”

His breath on my skin was hot, his voice cold steel. I violently shivered as he straightened himself behind me. I was perfectly aware of my position.

“I’m… I’m sorry, Sam, I - ”

“Ye’ll be that when I’m done.”

And then he slapped my arse, hard, the force of it pushing my thighs against the table. I barely had time to cry out – more in shock than in pain – before his hand landed again. I gasped, involuntarily trying to push up on the table - only to be reminded of my fetter. 

“No, you can’t get away. I’m going to punish ye, and I’ll hear all those lovely shrieks of yours.”

He spanked me again, and I gulped for air, my backside slowly but surely throbbing fiercely. His assured, calm words fanned the flames inside me, and I was torn between wanting to claw at him until I drew blood and begging him to slap me harder, and harder. I did neither, panting under him, forced to wait for his next move.

Sam kneaded my buttocks, and I felt him leaning into my ear.

“I think ye won’t be able to sit tomorrow.”

I groaned, and he proceeded to do exactly as he’d announced – he punished me thoroughly, spanking my arse until every inch of skin was reddened and burning and tingling. Pain overlapped and heat coursed through me until I felt like I must be scorching. He got to hear all my shrieks, all my cries and all my moans. But he still couldn’t get enough. 

“God, if you could see yerself. Do ye like getting spanked?”

The hoarse rasp of his voice disassembled me as much as the sweet sting of his hand, and I whimpered in answer to his blows, writhing on the table in front of him. _Please_ , I thought, _please, please_ , and I wasn’t at all sure I meant for him to stop.

He had been right, too. Nothing else but him remained of this world. When he finally stopped, I felt almost bereft. Sam moaned softly, and squeezed the sore skin of my arse.

“I’m not done punishing you.”

And with that, he all but ripped the panty from my body, the bows on either side giving way easily enough. He pushed my legs further apart, his hands on my hips drawing me closer to him, and slammed into me, simple as that. I wasn’t capable of breathing for a second, let alone anything else. Sam choked out a gasp, and then wound his fingers in my hair, forcing me back to him.

“You won’t come.”

I hissed when he released me, his whisper slowly sinking in as he started to fuck me. _We’ll see about that_ , I thought, but soon realised he’d probably get his way. His thrusts were sure and fast, but controlled. Sam fucked me solely to get himself off. In a way, he used me, but I had offered him to do just that, to take his pleasure from me. It was slightly maddening - and absolutely intoxicating. Especially mixed with the sensations my mistreated backside produced.

Sam all but growled behind me, now and then giving in to temptation and plunging into me hard. I’d shiver and gasp, but he would always slow down, sometimes stilling completely, everything to keep me under his power. After some torturous minutes, I sensed he was close. Again, I tried to move against him, but he pushed me back onto the table, one hand coming to rest on my arse, the other lightly pulling on my hair. He groaned out loud, thrust deep once, twice and spilled his seed into me. 

My lips were parted, but no actual sound ever emerged. The feel of him, fully rooted deep inside me, took my breath away. His fingers dug into my sensitive skin as he held himself stiff behind me, pressing into me with all his might. Slowly, Sam came back to himself. He sucked in air, then shifted his weight and moved his hands toward my waist.

While he heaved deep breaths, he gradually started to move his hips again, ever so gently. He was still hard, and I knew his body well – if he kept doing this, he’d likely stay hard. I moaned in time with him, his steady movements rocking me against the table, his thighs brushing against my bruised bottom. After some moments, I felt his hands on my arms, his fingers whispering over my skin as he quickly and deftly untied me. 

Gingerly, I unfolded my arms, wincing as the stiff joints were being moved again. I laid my palms flat on the table, and Sam instantly covered them with his, neatly interlacing his fingers with mine. I sighed, and we remained still for a moment, until I felt his lips against my ear.

“Turn around, I want to see you.”

He slipped out of me, allowing me space to manoeuvre. I settled on my back and barely had time to make myself comfortable before he sheathed himself into me again. My legs wrapped around his hips instinctively, and with a provocative grin, I dug my heels into his arse. I was rewarded with a breathy laugh and a wagging finger, but he leaned down to kiss me anyway.

“What do you want, Sam?”

“Hmm.”

He considered my question, his hands grazing my skin, his eyes slowly wandering over my body. When he returned them to mine, I felt my breath quicken already. The smile had never quite left his face, but his expression had darkened considerably. He cleared his throat.

“What I want… I want you to treat those beautiful, rosy nipples of yours exactly as I treated them. I want ye to feel what I did to yer sweet arse. I want ye to scream when I finally let ye come, because you just can’t take it anymore. And after that, when you’re limp and helpless under me, I want to cum on that perfect body.” 

“God.”, I managed to choke out before the sheer force of his thrust closed my throat again.

He watched through hooded lids as I obeyed and caressed my nipples, wincing despite the lightness of the touch. A brief, sly smile, then he wrapped his hands around my hips and pulled me back hard onto him. I cried out, and he began to fuck me. Not to get himself off, not in a skilled rhythm, not to tease and taunt me, but to give me everything he had.

I couldn’t moan loud enough. Even if I’d tried, even if Sam had ordered me to stay silent, I couldn’t have done so. He couldn’t possibly go any deeper, and his pace was punishing. Every now and then, he stroked my clit. The blazing pleasure mingled with the constant throb of my arse and the jolts of pain I produced whenever I pinched my nipples. I squirmed and gasped beneath him, unable to contain the onslaught of sensations. Unable to get enough.

Sam groaned and contorted his face in ecstasy, gripping my legs so tightly I knew I’d have bruises tomorrow. He somehow managed to press himself even harder into me, and I threw my head back, my back lifting off the table. I felt myself slowly slipping into a fevered haze, urgently chasing our ultimate union, body strung tight with anticipation, every nerve ending firing. I knew it was the same for Sam, and I tried to get closer to him still, to give him everything I had.

“Harder,” he gasped out, “harder!”. He lost control fast, it was almost desperate, his voice hoarse and rasping and his eyes searching mine, his cock still ravaging me. I didn’t have to ask him what he meant, and pinched my nipples roughly. 

I felt the sharp thrill of pain above everything, and it heightened all other sensations. I finally shattered, pleasure flooding my veins in a rush, igniting my body. I heard my own scream and watched Sam cum on me, gasping and sighing as he claimed my body, utterly exhausted. The world started to spin and blacken, and I closed my eyes. 

-

When I’d returned from my minor oblivion, Sam had simply picked me up and carried me to the shower. We had held and rinsed each other, smiling tranquilly and kissing slowly, whispering in hushed tones as the hot steam enveloped us. Then Sam had dropped to his knees and made sure our score was even.

We lay in bed now, snugly tucked under the covers, Sam nuzzling into my hair from behind. I chuckled and turned around, tugging some of his locks back.

“I can’t believe we’ll actually be able to sleep in tomorrow.”

His laugh was a low rumble next to me, the bedside lamp casting a warm glow across his features.

“And for the next three days after that, as well! I’m looking forward to our wee break together. Especially to our Ben Lomond hike tomorrow.”

At that, I propped myself up on one elbow, cocking an eyebrow in his direction. 

“What? Whenever did I agree to do _that_?”

His grin widened at my indignation, and he wriggled closer, wrapping his arms around me and cupping my arse in his hands.

“Well, as you won’t be able to sit down in any case, I thought that would be the best plan for tomorrow. Ow!”, he yelped as I hit him with my pillow.

“You bloody bastard.” I muttered while he drew me in his arms again, planting kisses on my head while he did so. I rested my forehead against his, still shaking my head and grinning despite myself. We lay still for some moments, and I thought he had drifted to an easy sleep, but he spoke again.

“Thank you.” 

His voice was sincere, and I opened my eyes to be locked in his gentle blue gaze, beholding me with tenderness and something that was almost reverence.

“That’s what I’m here for. I love you.” I whispered, moved by how he wore his heart on his sleeve. 

“I love you.”


End file.
